


The Nature of Children

by BecauseFandomsAreBetter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Gen, Jealousy, Kidlock, Poor Mycroft, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4507053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecauseFandomsAreBetter/pseuds/BecauseFandomsAreBetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about parents is that they garner a certain amount of love through the simple act of becoming parents. For the first few years of their lives, children inherently love their parents. It’s ingrained in their nature; they can’t help but show affection to those that provide care for them. Whether that love continues or not is entirely up to the parents.</p><p>For Sherlock Holmes it did.</p><p>For Mycroft Holmes, it did not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nature of Children

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse the horrible title- I literally could not think of anything else just now. If you have any suggestions, please do tell me and I'll give you credit if I decide to change it. ^_^ 
> 
> Bear with me on this one, as I wrote most of it in a sleepy daze in the early hours of the morning. I hope you like it, regardless!

The thing about parents is that they garner a certain amount of love through the simple act of becoming parents. For the first few years of their lives, children inherently love their parents. It’s ingrained in their nature; they can’t help but show affection to those that provide care for them. Whether that love continues or not is entirely up to the parents.

For Sherlock Holmes it did.

For Mycroft Holmes, it did not.  
~l~

The minute Mycroft met his new brother he knew that Sherlock was going to be trouble. He may not have thought it in that exact manner, being all of seven years, but the sentiment was there.  
It would take a few more weeks for him to realize that the trouble in question was for him.

~l~

Sherlock stole the hearts of his young parents from the moment he opened his purple-lipped mouth in an attempt to pull some oxygen into his feeble lungs. With his (albeit scarce) raven hair, and big gray eyes, he was the perfect genetic mix of Siger and Violet Holmes.

Everything the auburn-haired Mycroft was not.

At the still naïve age of seven, Mycroft craved his parent’s attention and love, as most children do. He may have been a genius, but even geniuses can have a weakness, and his happened to be his parents. But as the weeks passed and they continued to ignore Mycroft to coo over the latest addition to the Holmes family, Mycroft felt the eagerness drain out of him.  
In the past his father might have (somewhat grudgingly) put down his paper to look critically at Mycroft’s messy artworks, but those days had long passed. It was almost as if the couple had been waiting for this new baby an excuse to ignore their other son.

Mycroft was a bit of an oddity in the Holmes family, the proverbial black sheep. Holmeses were famous for producing geniuses of all calibers, the children usually deciding upon politics or science by the time they were old enough to read.

Mycroft, however, was more interested in planning sculptures than planning wars.

“As if that ginger hair wasn’t bad enough, now he’s gone and got his heart settled on the arts. And not even anything substantial like music or opera, but painting. Painting of all things!” Siger would shake his head with a disparaging chuckle.

The arts were not valued in a house full of scientists. So when Sherlock was born after years of attempts to conceive a second child, the Siger and Violet were more than eager to lather all their attentions on the baby.

Not that Mycroft could really blame them. He, too, was rather fascinated by his baby brother. At night, when everyone else was asleep, Mycroft would follow the dim light of his glow-in-the-dark paints and make his way carefully across the hall to peer into the sleeping Sherlock’s crib.

“When you’re older,” Mycroft would whisper through the smooth wooden bars. “I’ll show you how to build a dragon out of Legos. They don’t make a dragon Lego set, but I designed one myself using the castle kit. “ He lifted his chin proudly, resting his elbows on the flat railing and cradling his cheek in his arms. He smiled.

“I’m glad you’re here, Sherlock. I’ve always wanted a brother. A sister would’ve been fine too, I suppose,” he mused, looking thoughtfully up at the mobile swinging slowly above the crib. “But a brother’s nicer. Girls don’t like dragons.” He continued knowledgably. “That’s why they’re always getting captured by them and locked away in towers. They’re scared of the fire!”

Mycroft’s last declaration was a bit too enthusiastic, and Sherlock stirred in his sleep, soft kneeing wails coming from his mouth.

“Oh- don’t cry Sherlock, shh. Don’t be scared! I’ll teach you how to fight the dragons.” Mycroft reached one short, chubby arm in between the crib’s bars and gently rubbed the crying baby’s belly till he quieted. He wasn’t tall enough to bend over the crib’s barrier, but Mycroft pressed his small lips to the wood.

“You’ll always be safe with me.” And with that soft farewell, he left the room. 

~l~

Mycroft was ten and Sherlock three when the first bit of resentment crept into the older boy’s heart.

It was Christmas and he had just been given his special Christmas cupcake. Their long-time cook and nanny Sophie only baked them on Christmas day, and she made exactly one for each family member.  
Sherlock, with typical toddler eagerness, had devoured his in the span of two minutes and was now eyeing the one Mycroft was carefully savoring. Seeing the look on Sherlock’s tiny face, Mycroft hid his pastry protectively behind the crook of his elbow, and glared warningly at his brother.

“No Sherlock!” he said when the toddler continued to reach his sticky fingers towards him. “You already had yours!” Sherlock whined and stretched himself across the table.  
Siger, hearing the noise, turned towards them with an irritated look.

“Mycroft, stop bothering your brother.”

Mycroft’s jaw dropped open in protest. “I am NOT-“ he started, but was interrupted by a triumphant squeal as Sherlock took advantage of his distracted attention to lunge across the table and snatch his prize.

“Hey!” Mycroft cried angriliy, “Give it back! SHERLOCK!” He leaned across the table and grabbed it back. He didn’t have time to enjoy his victory however, as he suddenly found himself being yanked back by a sharp tug on his collar. Surprised, he turned around to see his father’s furious face towering over him.

“WHAT did I SAY?” he yelled, as Sherlock’s tinny cries started up behind them. Mycroft, cowed, but still filled with that sense of self-righteousness all ten-year-olds have. He raised his chin angrily, refusing to back down.

“He already at his cupcake! And we only get them once a year, it’s not fair-“

“Your brother is still a child, Mycroft. “ his mother’s voice chimed in, softer. “He doesn’t know his manners yet. You’re older, more mature. You have to make some allowances for him.” She smoothed a hand over Sherlock’s hair lovingly, and then turned to Mycroft with a slightly disapproving look. “And please don’t whine. It’s unbecoming of a Holmes.”

Mycroft watched the progression of his mother’s hand, still stroking the crying Sherlock’s curls, and felt something inside him go sour.

“Fine.” He spat bitterly, “He can have it.” Without looking, he tossed his cupcake in the direction of the baby, and stormed his way upstairs, slamming the door to his room shut extra hard.

~l~

Mycroft wasn’t sure exactly how long it had been, but the sudden knock at his door jolted him awake. Hastily wiping away the dampness on his cheeks, he rose from his position on the floor and turned to open the door. Peering cautiously through the tiny crack, he saw a smiling Sophie waiting patiently outside. Swinging the door open fully, he stood staring curiously at her.

“Hello Myc dear.” Her thick accent was comforting as she kneeled down to his level. “Are you alright?” Mycroft shook his head slightly, averting his eyes.  
Sophie just nodded knowingly, and reached over to pull him into her in a warm, motherly hug.

“There, there.” She patted his back lightly as he threw her arms aroung her neck with a soft sob. “It’s okay m’dear. It’s just a cupcake, isn’t it?”

“It’s not the cupcake,” Mycroft said, pulling away to look at Sophie’s sympathetic face. “It’s them. They always side with him. No matter what.” He lifted his tear-filled eyes to hers. “Why don’t they love me as much?” he asked in a broken voice.

Sophie felt her heart go out to the boy, and she shook her head gently. “I’m sure that’s not true, Mycroft. Sherlock’s just a baby, so they’re bound to be more careful with him. You know how babies are. They love you both just the same.”

Even as she said them, Sophie doubted her words and she knew that Mycroft could tell. But he nodded anyways, wiping his eyes tiredly. She smiled sadly at the boy and blinked hard. “Now then,” she clapped her hands lightly against her legs. “I have something that will cheer you right up.”

She turned and waved someone over. From behind a doorframe, where Mycroft hadn’t noticed him, Sherlock appeared and moved forward. He was carrying a fresh new cupcake, though there were tell-tale swipes of frosting missing from it’s top. (Mycroft rather suspected that this was the only reason Sherlock had been able to stay quiet for so long.)

He stumbled forward and reaching his short arms up, presented the cupcake to Mycroft with a sweet smile on his face.

“What did you want to say to your brother Sherlock?” Sophie nudged him gently in reminder. The toddler turned to look confusedly at her for a moment, before brightening and facing Mycroft again.

“Sorry! I’m sorr Myc!” he exclaimed with obviously pride at having remembered, beaming up at his brother. Mycroft looked down at the tiny boy and tried his best to harden his heart to the sight.

He failed. With a resigned sigh, he bent down and accepted the half-eaten offering.

“It’s okay Sherlock.” He sat cross-legged on the hallway floor, and patted the carpet next to him. “Come on,” he said with a faint smile. “Let’s share this.”

Sherlock gave an excited laugh, and plopped himself down in the offered spot next to Mycroft, already staring eagerly at the remaining frosting. Mycroft just shook his head and smiled wider, feeling the sourness of before slowly fade away.

~l~

That incident stuck in Mycroft’s mind for years, and he stopped trying to win his parents love. But he couldn’t quite dispel the urge to gain their approval, and so at the age of 18 when it was time to go to college, he decided on political science.

“Good on you, Myc.” His father had said with a clap on the back when he’d first told him of his decision. “It’s about time you grew out of that painting phase, and learned to think like a man.”

Mycroft just nodded.

~l~

“But I thought you were going to be an artist Myc!” Sherlock lay on his back with his arms and legs stuck straight up in the air. They were sitting in the Mycroft’s bedroom as he attempted to read a book. He’d basically given up hope once Sherlock had run in though, so he just sighed and closed the novel for now.

“No, Sherlock. I wanted to be one, but it’s not a realistic choice for a career. And what exactly is it that you’re trying to accomplish with that pose?” he asked bemusedly.

“I’m seeing how long it will take for my limbs to get numb from blood loss.” Apparently growing tired of the experiment himself, Sherlock dropped said limbs and sat up.

“But you’re so good at it- why would you stop for politics?” The distaste in Sherlock’s voice was all the sign Mycroft needed to know that politics was not in his younger brother’s future.

“Thank you Sherlock, that means a lot.” Mycroft smiled softly as Sherlock got up to go examine the numerous artworks hung on the wall. “But you know that Father really wanted me to work in the government, and he is paying for my college.”

Sherlock stared thoughtfully at one of Mycroft’s newest sketches, a silhouette, and then nodded his head decisively.

“Well I don’t care what Mummy and Father say about careers- I’m going to be a pirate.” He proclaimed proudly.

“Oh really? A pirate?” Mycroft said, lips twitching. Sherlock nodded his head aggressively, long curls flopping back and forth with the movement.

“A famous one, like Blackbeard! And I’m going to have a huge ship with a big crew, and my first mate will be Redbeard, and I’ll have a separate room for my experiments.” At eleven years old, Sherlock had not yet outgrown his childish fantasies, but was starting to understand that blowing things up wasn’t just for fun. Mycroft looked down at his folded arms and smiled wanly at his sheets. Sherlock’s growing interest in science was yet another accolade for their parents to be proud of him for.

But as Mycroft watched his brother bounce around his room, pointing out his favorite drawings for the hundredth time, he felt his smile grow into a full out grin.  
He may not have as much of his parent’s hearts as he had always wanted, but he knew without a doubt that Sherlock had given him his.

And really, that was all he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed!  
> Feel free to leave any constructive criticism in the comments. All comments, kudos, etc. are greatly appreciated!  
> <3


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